


Undone

by scapeartist



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 07:27:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8277700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scapeartist/pseuds/scapeartist
Summary: When Killian has Rumple return his hook to him, it bothers him more than he can admit.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have always been fascinated with the transition between when Killian has his hook returned to him and when we next see him heading into the Sheriff’s station after his confrontation with Rumple in 4x04, “The Apprentice.” His appearance is the most disheveled we’ve seen him, and it just spoke volumes about where he was at after being told he was going to be Rumple’s pawn from then on.

  


Killian’s brace chafed more than he was normally able to dismiss. He gripped the hook as he shifted his wrist and the brace incrementally, trying to relieve the irritation, but he couldn’t find the right fit to relieve the soreness. He shook his arm in frustration and flexed the fingers of his hand, digging his fingernails into his palm trying to at least shift or balance the discomfort to a place he could control. Truth be told, his whole body felt prickly—as if he’d been washed up on rough sands and left to dry under the blazing sun. Killian recognized it for what it was: anxious anticipation, like the moment before a deadly lighting strike when the air is thick and charged, standing fine hairs at attention.  
  
“ _I think, you and I are gonna have some fun_ ,” Gold had said about the new arrangement between them.

This morning’s “fun” made Killian want to vomit. Gold’s threats against Emma set him on edge. The two reactions blended together into a kind of seasickness he hadn’t known since he was a child set upon stormy waters. He’d need to find his sea legs now just as he had then.

The walk back to his room at Granny’s was blessedly quick, and Killian went around to the back door, avoiding anyone who may care to strike up a conversation with the newly approachable, formerly fearsome pirate, which he knew now was a only a pretty disguise. He was as merciless as he ever was.

 _Bloody crocodile_. Killian would never be free of him.

By the time he was halfway up the stairs, Killian had unbuckled his brace and begun yanking it off his arm. He hung the hook from a belt loop at his waist and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out his room key. He unlocked the door to his overly-floral lodgings and threw the brace and hook onto the bed, followed closely by his jacket, which hid them both from view.

He raked his hand through his hair and gritted his teeth trying to find order in thoughts that skipped from fury to fear to disappointment to shame. Was there any part of him that wasn’t a weapon? Any part of him that couldn’t be used to hurt others?

Killian pulled his flask from his back pocket, yanked the cork out with his teeth, letting it swing down from the cord it was attached to, and drank deeply from it. He didn’t taste the rum, didn’t even enjoy it. All he wanted was for it to help him stop thinking; not about his hand, not about the Crocodile, not about the damned old man lost to the depths of the bloody hat.

He could only imagine what Emma would think of him once she knew what had happened, what he’d done, how low he had sunk. Blackmail was a vocation of the lazy. Blackmailing _the Dark One_ was the folly of a desperate man.

And Killian was desperate. Desperate to be whole again. Desperate to shed everything that reminded him—and Emma—of his darkness and vengeance. He was desperate to move on and regain that part of him that once had honor and was worth the regard of someone he cared for. Only he’d realized too late that his honor wasn’t hidden in the “lump of flesh” forcibly removed by the Crocodile so many years ago or magically 10 minutes ago. Nor, he thought, was it in any other part of himself.

He was less afraid of losing Emma to his own stupidity—although that was certainly possible—than he was losing her to the capriciousness of Rumplestiltskin. He knew what that hat was capable of. He saw it absorb both magic and magic wielder, and he knew Emma’s magic would be a prize beyond reckoning, and Killian wouldn’t give that demon any reason to look in her direction any more than he probably already was.

He took another swig of rum and then placed the flask on the scuffed nightstand next to the bed. He began popping open the buttons of his waistcoat in quick succession until it hung open and he could shrug out of it. He wanted nothing more than to get out of his clothes and sink into some water to clear his head, maybe figure out how he was going to extricate himself from the trap he’d sprung for himself, and now Emma, with Rumplestiltskin as the mechanism.

Tossing the waistcoat onto the bed with his jacket, Killian began to unbutton his shirt when he noticed the phone Emma gave him had slid out of the pocket he usually kept it in. There was a light blinking on the small screen; the one Emma said meant he had a message waiting for him. He did what she had shown him to do when that happened, and pressed the button to retrieve the message then held the phone to his ear just in time to hear Emma herself.

 _“Hey, it’s me. I, uh, chased down the Snow Queen this morning only to lose her, but then I gained a drunken book thief. I could use some help if you can get down to the station.”_ Her voice softened when she continued. _“Plus, you know, I’d really like to see you.”_

The message ended and Killian looked at the phone screen. She’d left that over a couple hours ago. Probably when he’d been party to the old man’s likely demise. He stuffed the phone into the front pocket of his jacket again, then picked up his brace and hook.

Hefting the contraption in his hand, he pressed his fingertips into the worn leather and closed his eyes feeling the roughness of the edges and the smoothness of the rivets holding it together. This was his reality, not some wish for something lost to him. His hook and brace were a part of him probably more than his hand ever was. As much as he always wanted his hand back, at this point, his hook was the devil he knew. Intimately.  

Killian shoved his wrist into the opening of the brace and buckled it onto his forearm just as he had every day minus one for the last two centuries. He didn’t bother putting his waistcoat back on, knowing it would take too long to deal with the buttons, and just grabbed his jacket with his hook and slid it on, flicking the collar up over his neck as he adjusted the fit of it to accommodate his brace again.  

As much as he wanted to avoid seeing Emma until he could figure out how to protect her and not lose her, he couldn’t keep her waiting any longer or cause her concern. He hoped she was occupied enough with the Snow Queen not to catch on to whatever half-truth he was going to have to offer up to explain why he had his hook back. He couldn’t afford distracting Emma from her inevitable confrontation with this latest foe, and at least tied to the Crocodile he’d be in a position to keep an eye on him and maybe even prevent him from doing more harm to others. It was all he could do and it would have to be enough.


End file.
